


Never Underestimate Clint Barton

by Write_No_Evil



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America Civil War, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Clint Barton, Clint Barton-centric, Clint Needs a Hug, Deaf Clint, F/M, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Clint Barton, Mostly compliant with Canon, Swearing, Swearing in later chapters, The farm doesn't exist, Though they're in the Raft for longer, Torture, Torture Scene, Waterboarding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 16:14:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7368718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Write_No_Evil/pseuds/Write_No_Evil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint, Sam, Scott and Wanda are in the Raft. Trapped in a prison meant for criminals and unable to do anything as his friends are beaten up in an attempt to find out where Steve is, Clint feels more than helpless. But Clint is an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and one of the many things you should never do is underestimate him. He may not be able to break out, but he is going to make everyone who works in the Raft lives as hard as possible.</p><p>After he's finally out, he leaves the Avengers, unable to work with the people who had gone from being comrades who he had fought side by side with to the people who had thrown him into prison. Working more as a freelancer and a mercenary like he had before becoming a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent, he, on a whim, goes to Wakanda to see how Bucky is getting on. Maybe T'Challa can talk some sense into him and make him realise how badly impacted the Avengers are now that he is no longer fighting by their side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Raft. An underwater prison meant for supervillains. Honestly? Clint thought he kind of deserved this. It was a fitting punishment for all the things he had done under Loki's control, for all the people he killed. He was a murderer and deserved to be locked up for his crimes. The others, though? They didn't deserve to be in here. Wanda, Scott and Sam were heroes, they shouldn't be in here. His eyes flicked up to watch Wanda. A flare of anger spiked through him as his eyes rested on her collar. Clint's blue-grey eyes moved over her body, methodically searching her. Most of her injuries were healed, just a few cuts and scratches on her face.

Clint wasn't sure exactly what was stopping her from breaking out. She was the only one of them that had superpowers and she was one of the strongest, if not the strongest mutant he had seen. He had nailed it down to three things:

1) The blue straight jacket that stopped her moving her hands. From what he had seen of her powers, she had always used her hands. Maybe now she couldn't move her hands she couldn't use her powers and so couldn't break out.

2) The collar around her neck. He could see the red lights on the side and he had wondered what exactly the collar did to her. His mind continually switched from it being a shock collar to it being some sort of collar that depowered her. He had heard rumours of them existing either from a mission or having read it in a S.H.I.E.L.D. briefing.

3) Was that she simply didn't want to break out. It had been less than six months since Slovakia and her brother's death and only a week ago that her mission with Captain America and Natasha had gone wrong, when the bomb she had been trying to stop had exploded and killed 40 people. Clint had read her file and knew she had been experimented on whilst she had been with Hydra. Suddenly being back in a prison/cage environment after being free for a few months had probably put her in a shocked-dazed headset.

He remembered when he had first encountered her and had tased her to stop her messing with his mind. She had been out for a little while after that and had been less powerful fighting for the last few minutes of the conflict. The archer guessed she was probably more powerful alert and awake. The way she kept on looking almost brain dead, made Clint think there may be a fourth reason: they were sedating her. With her being less alert, as with anyone else, she would be much easier to control and imprison.

Clint stood and walked to the bars, pushing his body into them as much as possible as he peered out. His hands rested on the vertical bars running from the ceiling to the floor. Behind the bar was a 5-inch sheet of bulletproof glass that General Ross had been more than happy to tell him about. Several times. Absentmindedly, Clint tapped his fingers on the bars of metal, knowing they were reinforced titanium alloy bars, possibly with a vibranium metal rod running through the core. Even Cap would have a hard time bending them. When Wanda didn't raise her head and catch his eyes, he swept them across the room.

The cell next to Wanda was empty, the one next to that one, which was in the centre, held Sam and finally Scott on the cell to the left of his. Clint wasn't sure if they had deliberately put them like that to hinder him- Sam and Scott were all strategically placed so Clint couldn't see them well or at all. No matter where Clint stood in his cell or how he twisted his body, he couldn't see Scott, the man remaining in his blind spot at all times. It left Clint on edge, he hated having blind spots or friends in said blind spots as he couldn't keep an eye on them or come to their aid if they were in danger. He could only see Sam if he stood in the right half of his cell and Sam in the left half of his cell. Clint could only see one person freely and easily and that was Wanda as she was in the cell directly in front of him.

He wondered briefly if this arrangement was to stop him or if it was to keep them away from Wanda. As much as he wanted to think it was for him, and that they did consider him a threat, he knew in his gut it was for Wanda. Wanda was their main concern because she was the strongest one and could easily escape if at full power. They had made sure that she wouldn't have any help by keeping them as far away as possible from her. No one had paid much attention to him. They had paid Sam a bit more attention than him as they knew that he was closer to Steve than Clint was. Even Scott, the one with the least amount of training, had had more attention as the guards knew he could shrink or grow and so had the possibility to escape. Clint wasn't sure if he should be happy with his stupid, immature facade. On one hand, it meant they left him alone and were less guarded around him, giving him a better chance to escape. But on the other hand, he had to watch as Sam and Scott were dragged off to be interrogated and came back with more bruises, especially Sam. The hatred he felt for Ross just grew each day. The man obviously didn't care about human rights.

It was hard to keep track of time. They were underwater and the room he was in didn't allow any natural light to come in so he didn't have any markers to tell him what time of day it was. Luckily for him, he was pretty good at judging time, a skill he had even before S.H.I.E.L.D. and being a sniper. Although not 100% certain, he guessed they had been in the Raft for at least five days. He sighed and sat down on his cot, head falling back to hit the metal wall. He knew the importance of keeping morale. This dreary room where nothing changed, the bad food, the beatings and interrogations, the inability to keep track of time, he knew they were all mild torture techniques. They were specific in breaking someone's spirit and Clint knew that once it was broken, it was basically over for them. Luckily for him, he was pretty resilient to them, having been through them several times as an agent. It also helped that he knew what they were doing.

His eyes roamed over the ceiling as he once again searched for something. Nothing jumped out at him. He had done several thorough searches of his cell when he had been placed in it and knew it was redundant. Still, he kept doing it. A mechanical whirl took his attention away from the ceiling. A panel on the floor slid open and another panel rose up from the gap. On it was a tray of food. Well, the tray wasn't on it, it was it. They had designed it so no one could take the tray and use it as a weapon. Clint moved to the tray and grabbed the sandwiches, sticks of carrots and the handful of crisps. He also grabbed the plastic cup that had water in it and moved back to his bed.

A minute later and the tray lowered and the panel slid back to cover the hole. Clint picked the sandwich apart, sniffing bits of the bread and nibbling small bits of it. He sniffed the carrots but didn't eat them and moved to the crisps, eating a few of them. He couldn't smell or taste any poisons but he knew many that were odourless and tasteless. The water he didn't even look at, throwing it down the toilet. There was an even greater chance that it had been spiked as it was easier to drug water than food. Clint ate every other day, not trusting the Raft's cooks not to spike his food with a truth serum or something else. Eating small amounts of food meant that there would be fewer drugs in his system making it easier for him to think and lie when interrogated and allowed him to build up an immunity to the drugs. He could hear the others eating the food and sighed. They would be bad agents if they ever decided to become one.

A few hours later and the lights dimmed, the only indicator as to what time of day it was. It was a signal for them to go to bed. The others moved around then quietened. Clint stayed where he was for a while, his spy instincts not letting him fall asleep. He had been there for 5 days. Most places operated on a week basis so he still had two days to observe if they did anything different. Nothing had changed in the five days he had been there, in the day and night so he didn't think anything would happen. His head lolled to the side and he stared out at Wanda.

"You should sleep, Wanda," he advised. Wanda didn't make any sign that she had heard him. He sighed and laid on his bed, following his own advice. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off, deciding he would sleep for an hour then wake up and observe if they changed their pattern for two hours then fall asleep for another hour, repeating the cycle until morning. Compared to some prisons, it wasn't too bad. They hadn't deprived them of sleep yet, but Clint knew eventually it would happen. Then they would be in trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

It was Scott that gave him the idea, on the tenth day. The criminal turned hero was beginning to realise this was his fate.

"I've just realised," Scott broke the silence that had been held for over two days. "I'm never gonna see my little girl." He took a shuddering breath as the realisation hit him. "I'm gonna miss all of Cassie's birthdays."

Clint turned and looked at the wall that separated him and Scott. He felt sympathy towards the man, heart clenching at the raw emotion in the man's voice. If only he could do something. If only he could break them out. Clint surveyed his cell again, not finding anything that could aid him in trying to escape. If he couldn't escape, maybe he could send an SOS call out on a radio. Tash would get it and come break him out, wouldn't she?

He licked his bottom lip, tongue irritating a cut he had gotten a few days ago. His entire right side of his face hurt from the punches he had been subjected to in the "interrogation". The archer smiled and mentally patted himself over the fact that he didn't even make a noise throughout the entire hour of beating. Clint had just smiled and remained silent, putting his interrogators all on edge.

"I'm sorry man," Sam told him.

"Yeah, well nothing I can do now," Scott replied. It alarmed Clint how broken and defeated he sounded. Scott was probably running through scenario after scenario, picturing his daughter growing up without her father, marrying with him not walking her down the aisle, her finding out her father was a criminal locked up in another prison. Clint knew each one was probably worse than the previous. He also knew he had to do something to stop Scott from being broken completely. Ross wasn't going to break one of his friends, not on his watch.

Clint had thought and fantasised about him breaking out, each one giving him hope and helping him get through another day. Each fantasy was more unrealistic than the previous, working with things he would never get his hands on. If only he had this. If only he had that. _If only_. He already had several fragments of plans but all of them had things he didn't have and Clint couldn't string them together to make one big plan that would work. He sighed and closed his eyes, not for the first time wondering what Nat and the others were doing.

* * *

It was Wanda, though, that gave him the push he needed. Several days later and she finally spoke. Granted, it was in her sleep.

"Pietro... Pietro don't leave me. Please," she murmured. Clint, the only one awake, turned and looked at her. A tear fell from her right eye. She continued to call out for her dead brother and Clint felt the flare of need to protect her again. Since Slovakia he had tried his hardest to protect her, seeing her for what she truly was. A child. She was lost and scared and alone and God dammit Clint could remember when his brother left him for the army and he suddenly was all on his own. Had been for several years until S.H.I.E.L.D. appeared out of nowhere and took him in. He wasn't going to let her feel the same way as he had.

He began to work out the best way to escape. Whenever they came to take him and the others away to be interrogated, they would gas them first, leaving them woozy or sometimes completely passed out and much easier to move. It meant that attacking them as they moved him was out of the question. Clint couldn't escape from his cell and other than when they moved him to the interrogation room, he was completely cut off from the outside world. He needed to find a way to escape from the inside. Clint knew enough about the Raft to know he would probably never make it to the outside world and the freedom it entailed. So he decided he needed to change the angle, if he couldn't escape then he could do the next best thing: make their lives as awful as possible. Perhaps he could even send a public report to the world about what they had done to them, people who were regarded as heroes and how they were being tortured in ways that violated the Geneva Conventions.

It took him an hour before he realised what he could do. Clint had been sitting on his cot, right ankle resting on his left knee as his mind whirled through escape plans and routes. His fingers were playing with his prison slippers when it struck him. The male laughed at himself, feeling stupid at how long it had taken him to realise that he _did_ have the equipment he needed.

Clint waited another hour before the food arrived and put his plan into motion. About fifteen minutes before his tea would arrive (he had ingrained the schedule into his memory within three days), he sat cross-legged, back to the glass and waited for the food to pop up. The way he was sat meant that he blocked the camera's view into his cell. Once again he was thankful that there wasn't a camera inside his cell.

When the panel rose he quickly took all the food off it. He moved from side to side, peering through the small gap into the wiring underneath the slim metal. His grey eyes darted around, his brain labelling all the components he saw before his eyes moved to the sensors that ran along the edge. Two minutes later and the tray slid down. The archer nibbled at the sandwich and thought about his next option. The gap between the tray and the cell floor was too thin for him to reach down and grab at the metal wiring. On top of that, the tray would slide back down after two minutes. Ross really wasn't generous with how long they had a chance to eat. If they were too slow, didn't notice it or were napping then they had to wait for the next meal.

Clint rose and moved to the toilet where he had hidden the white plastic cups that accompanied his food. Thankfully the guards had been too busy dragging him out of the cell that they hadn't spotted the growing collection. He grabbed them and began to rip them into strips. Once he had over a three hundred strips, he bit a hole in the bottom and top of the strips, threading another strip into the bottom and top holes of the first strip until he had a chain of plastic. He had placed several in each hole so it was thick and strong enough it wouldn't snap easily. Once he had finished it he tucked it into his pillow and rested on the cot, humming a little tune.

It was three days later when he began stage two of his plan. He rolled off the bed and under it, shuffling up to be under the pillow at the head of the cot, the only place in his cell where the cameras couldn't reach. It was very cramped and he had to curl up into a really tight ball but Clint had lived in a circus for a few years and knew how to make himself as small as possible so the position wasn't that uncomfortable to him. He took off his slipper and began to bite the white rubber that ran along the outside of the sole. It took him a few minutes to get a strip off and he rolled out from where he was hiding, keeping the piece in his mouth. He had taken a bit from the inside if the shoe so the camera wouldn't be able to pick it up unless he accidentally flashed that part of the shoe to it and even if he did, Clint was pretty sure the people watching the cameras wouldn't have noticed. He sent them a cheeky grin then flipped them the bird.

On the fifteenth day of his imprisonment, Clint put his plan into action. Two minutes before his dinner came he asked a favour of the others.

"Sam." He got the man's attention. Sam turned to look at Clint but Clint was facing the wall. Clint reached out and tapped the wall. He continued to tap it. Sam frowned as he realised that Clint was giving him a coded message. He concentrated and decoded it. 'I need you to make a distraction. Throw your pillows and mattresses around, run at the door, kick the bars. Just get their attention.' Clint stopped and out of the corner of his eye watched Sam as he nodded subtlely.

"Scottie man," Sam turned to address the other man. "Ever played follow the leader?" Before Scott could question what he meant, Sam had turned around, lunged towards his bed and grabbed the pillow. He threw it at the bars and then started screaming. Scott, understanding what he meant, turned and began to trash his own room. The noise had Wanda looking up. Clint saw the camera above Wanda's cell that usually pointed at him turn to survey the other males. Clint took that time to fish out his chain of plastics and throw himself to the floor in front of the panel that slid open.

He laid along the floor on his stomach and breathed gently on the exposed sensors, knowing that the moisture of his breath would temporarily disable them and allowed him to continue with his plan. He reached under it and with his plastic chain began to fish as much of it out as possible. A minute later and he had to roll over as the panel slid down. He grabbed everything and hid it in his pillow, having made a hole in it earlier. He stashed them inside the pillow and lounged on the foot of his bed. Clint timed when the guards came rushing in, a full three minutes later. He was surprised at such a delay until he saw they had armed themselves with weapons. They rushed into the two males' room and quickly overpowered them, dragging them out. Clint rushed to the window, eyes wide but Sam smiled and shook his head. When no one came to his cell, Clint knew they had done their job well.

The archer felt a pang of guilt when three days later they were dragged back into their cells, nursing bruises on their faces and moving with obvious limps. They reassured Clint that they were fine and that they would do it again if he asked but he still felt guilty. In the days they had been gone he had looked through what he had managed to take out. It was something but not enough for him to really work with. Thankfully he had already thought of this and so had what he needed to continue.

When the platform holding his food rose again he moved with speed and efficiency, hovering around it until it began to lower. He quickly placed the strips under the tray and around the sides of the hole so the rubber stopped the tray from moving fully down and closing. He turned and looked directly into the camera, daring them to come to him.

They didn't disappoint and he heard the stamping sounds of hurried footsteps a minute later. Cling glanced around the room, making sure there wasn't anything out of place and then prepared himself for when would they burst through his door. A second later and they did. He instinctively jumped back, giving himself as much room as he could. He forced his tensed body to relax, the whole aim of this was to make them keep their guard lowered. Unlike the rest, he had quickly become more compliant with them and had stopped fighting them a few days into the sentence. The guards had mistakenly thought they had broken him when in actual fact it was just to make sure they wouldn't deem him a threat and so wouldn't be as cautious around him.

The men in front yelled at him, pointing their guns at him. He kept his face neutral, fighting to keep the smile down. With three of the five men keeping their guns trained on him, the fourth and fifth ventured forward. One of them kicked the rubber bands out from under the tray, the tray sliding closed and the panel sliding back to cover the hole. Clint lowered his hands, having kept them up in the air in the standard surrender position. The action brought the attention of the man in front of him back to him. _'Seriously?'_ he thought, unable to keep himself rolling his eyes at how badly trained they were. Taking your attention off of a threat, no matter how weak you thought they were, was a sure fire way to get yourself killed. The man in front of him took hia eyeroll as an insult and lunged at him, punching him in the gut. Clint let out a huff, bending over at the force of the punch. The man aimed a few more punches at his solar plexus and brought his knee up to finish Clint. Clint fell to the floor, turning in mid-air so he hit his side instead.

"And he was an Avenger," one of the man snorted.

"Thanks for the warm-up," the man standing above him gave Clint one last kick to the stomach then pivoted and walked off, calling over his shoulder. "If you could call that a warm up." Clint stayed where he was for a few minutes, heaving oxygen into his lungs to try and get his breath back after having it knocked out of him. He slowly unfurled his body, left arm propping him up so he could stare at the door.

"No, thank you." He couldn't keep the grin off his face, looking down to where his right hand clutched the man's navigator and a few other small things he had managed to take off him whilst he was draped over the man's back and getting punched by him. His grin widened as he eyed the small thin screen, pleased with himself that his idea of the Raft being too big and new for them to know the layout and so had a small GPS to get around had been correct.

He pushed himself slowly up, wincing as his body protested at the movement and staggered to where he had stashed the rest of his things. He could have taken the man's gun but Clint knew that it was the men in the small room that watched the cameras that had control of the doors. Nothing on the men would have helped him open the door. The archer turned around slowly and let the smile spread to a cocky smirk. They had made his friend's lives a misery. Now it was their turn to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!!!!!! Well, I'm finally back. I was on a small hiatus as I had Mocks last week and I was revising for them ( I think I failed German lol) but they're over now and I only have like 2 more weeks of school then it's summer holidayssss!!!!! WHOOOO!!!! So, I will be writing/finishing the tonne of half finished stories and updating them as quickly as possible for all you guys. Fun!!!!


	3. Chapter 3

Clint knew that morale was seriously low. He lounged on his bed, fingers prodding the bruises on his legs. It was a bad habit but he couldn't seem to stop it. If Nat was here, she would be slapping his hands away from his legs. Not for the first time he wondered where she was and why she hadn't come to save him. She hadn't even given him a message- no radio coding or a small shift in the shadows as he was dragged to the interrogation room. He pondered briefly if she had left him to rot in massive prison but forced himself to dismiss the idea. She was his partner, she wouldn't do that. Right?

"So, what's everybody's party trick?" He asked. His voice cracked half-way through from disuse. He hadn't spoken for several days now. When no one replied after 30 seconds he repeated the question.  
  
"Nat can tie cherry stems with her tongue," his heart pinched as he thought of his partner. "Me? All I can do is make bird calls," he tells them.  
  
"Really?" Scott asked intrigued. Clint smiled as someone finally rose to the bait and began to converse with him.  
  
"Yeah. My only duty during missions is to do the signal. I can do a dove, eagle, falcon, robin and crow to name a few."  
  
"But no hawk?" Sam teased. Clint snorted.  
  
"In my defence, they're real hard to mimic." He licked his lips and brought his hands to his mouth cupping them over it and blew into them. His fingers moved rapidly up and down until a shrill noise came from them.  
  
"That's pretty impressive," Scott complimented him.  
  
"What about you man?"  
  
"Well, I can... Nah, it's stupid," Scott began but stopped.  
  
"C'mon, tell us anyway."  
  
"Well, I can sort of beat box," Scott shyly revealed.  
  
"Nooooo!! Really?!" Clint exclaimed in shock. He personally loved beat boxers.  
  
"Hehe, yeah."  
  
"Please show us, Scott," Sam requested. The size changing man huffed but complied and began to make noises with his mouth and hands. Clint bobbed his head to the beat.  
  
"I think you're in the wrong profession mate. Go become a professional beat-boxer and be a millionaire." Clint was rewarded with laughter from the other two males.  
  
"Alright, your turn Sam." Sam rolled his eyes.  
  
"Yeah, I revealed mine, you gotta reveal yours." Sam cleared his throat as Scott backed Clint up.  
  
"My name's Steve Rogers and every time I have sex a bald eagle is born. Which is also why they're an endangered species."  
  
"Woah," Clint breathed as Sam perfectly mimicked Steve's voice.  
  
"I'm Tony and I'm a genius, playboy billionaire, philanthropist." That had them both cracking up.  
  
"I'm Tony and I'm a rich spoilt brat who hasn't had to work a single day in his life." That one got a few chuckles. Clint froze when he heard a more feminine sounding laugh. He turned and saw a smiling Wanda.  
  
"What can you do?" He asked. She licked her lips, looking much more alert than he had seen her for a long while.  
  
"Pietro could throw his voice really well. Maybe because he would run to another part of the room and then speak....... I can make hand puppets."  
  
"No way, that's so cool!" Scott exclaimed. Wanda smiled down at her lap, cheeks blushing at the praise.  
  
"Yes, I would do it now but.." she moved her tied down arms.  
  
Clint glanced around the room. His aim to boost morale seemed to work. The archer's eyes flicked down to the electronics he had stealthily retrieved from the middle of his pillow and had been tinkering with it whilst they had all been talking. He had covered it with his blanket so the cameras wouldn't spot it. The male placed it on the mattress next to him and got up, making sure not to flash it to the cameras above Wanda's cage. Clint walked up to the glass in front of his cell and looked solemnly at Wanda.  
  
" _Wanda, what I'm about to do is really risky_ ," her eyes widened as she heard him speak in her native tongue. Ever since they had gone to Sokovia, he had been learning the language. It was a hobby of his, Clint loved learning new languages. " _They're probably going to think it's you who's done it. Most likely they'll take you away from here, maybe interrogate you. If you don't think you can take what they'll do to you then I won't do it. You say the word and I'll stop-"_ he looked her hard in the eyes. " _-so tell me, are you strong enough?_ "  
  
Wanda nodded at him, her eyes looking more like hard rocks. She set her face into a grim expression and told him. "Let's give them hell."

He smiled at her decision and turned back to his bed to get the device. Staying subtle, just like he had been taught, he pulled it out and pressed a few buttons. A few heartbeats later and all the lights went out.

"What the hell?" Scott murmured. Clint could hear him move off the bed as he glanced around the now completely dark room.

"Their cameras, microphones and lights are all offline. So are the doors. Unfortunately, I could only lock them shut. Sorry guys," Clint apologised. Even though he had very limited resources to work with, he still felt frustrated at how little he had managed to do. He hadn't even managed to open any of the doors.

"Why are you apologising?" Sam asked, awe dropping from his words. "This is amazing."

"Really?" Clint asked, insecurity bubbling up in him. The rest of his friends enthusiastically agreed with Sam and the archer felt a shy smile grace his lips.

"How long will it stay like this?" Sam asked, becoming serious again.

"It'll go back to how it was once they've got everything back online. Depends on how good they are. Ten, fifteen minutes max, most likely." He could hear Scott giggling in his cell, mumbling gleefully about something. Probably insulting the guards and Ross knowing him.

"Anything you lot want to talk about without them overhearing it?" Clint asked. There was a pause as everyone thought.

"Did we pick the right side?" Scott asked, hesitant to ask the question.

"Of course man." Sam was quick to argue against him.

"I- I get it. I get why I fought, and I get why most of you fought. But... if we're on the good side... then why hasn't anyone come to get us?"

"Maybe they can't get in?" Sam questioned.

"Maybe they don't want to come in," Wanda put in. Clint sighed, head falling forward to hit the metal bar. He hadn't meant for this to happen.

"Guys, guys! Enough. We're Avengers-"

"Errm...." Scott tried to interrupt but Clint wouldn't let him.

"- we've fought side by side. Together, with Cap, _for_  Cap. Wanda, you're the most powerful person I've ever met and trust me I've met _a lot_ of people. I don't know anyone who can crush Vision into the floor. And then into the ground." Wanda smiled bashfully down into her lap.

"Scott, you're one of the best thieves in the world. You snuck into Hank Pym's mansion, stole the Ant-Man uniform and then snuck back in and returned it. Just imagine, bragging to everyone that you were in the Raft and managed to escape it. You agreed instantly to help us. You're a good man inside, and you don't deserve to be here. We'll get you back to Cassie.

"And you, Sam. Dude where to begin? You jumped right back into this whole fighting bad guys when Cap asked. You've got a cool head and you're loyal. Not once have you questioned Cap. And seeing you up there, constantly giving others support and having their backs? God, you're great at flying that suit. And you stand up for what you believe in, like with the Accords.

"Look, I guess what I'm saying is that we aren't completely useless. We have skills. Let's do a check, we have a mutant with almost unstoppable powers, an ex-army man who can fly some real advanced tech, an ex-thief who can grow in size and an assassin. We may have the skills needed to get out of here without Cap or anyone else coming for us. And if not that, I'm almost certain I can get something onto the internet. An article that would tell everyone what's happening to us. Surely people will be so enraged that they'll get us out of here. And if that doesn't happen, I know Cap will come for us. He doesn't leave _anyone_ behind. I'm sure they're probably just too busy to come get to us right now. But the moment they aren't fighting Tony and the others, I'm sure they'll come for us.... That's if we're even still here."

His pep talk seemed to work. It had boosted all of their morale and from the limited view he had, he could see that they were all smiling. Clint let himself enjoy the moment, congratulating himself at how well it had gone. It didn't last long though as a loud rumbling suddenly started.

"What was that?"

"It's them getting back online," Clint told them. He looked at Wanda. "Ready?"

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wiping the fear off her face as she did so. She looked up at him, determination on her face and nodded. A minute later and at least thirty men all in black and carrying large guns entered the room. General Ross was at the front of the group. He turned to Wanda and yelled at the people to get her out. Men burst from the door behind her and began to drag her out by her bound arms, the men behind them aiming their guns at her. She let them take her, glaring at General Ross the entire time.

"Ross! Stop. It wasn't her!" Clint yelled, banging the glass, suddenly scared about what was going to happen to her. Ross turned slowly to look at him, an eyebrow raised.

"Are you saying you know who did this?" He asked. Clint straightened to his full height and stared coldly back at him, not saying a word. The older man began to laugh. "Are you telling me it was _you_ who did this?" Ross kept on laughing and Clint could do nothing but clench his fists as the man in front of him mocked him. "Please. You're not that good. You're an agent that SH.I.E.L.D. has dropped. I mean, if they actually wanted you, they'd have gotten you released. But you're still here."

Ross walked out, the other men making a path for him to walk through them then followed him. Clint sighed, his head lolling forward to his forehead against the glass again. This was the thing he didn't want to happen. Now Wanda was separated from them and in the hands of a sick man who didn't care about their rights.

"Don't take it too hard," Sam advised. "You're a spy. It's your job to blend into the shadows and all that. Your style is them underestimating you."

"Still feels like it's my fault." Clint murmured, pushing off the glass to walk back to his cot, the fight suddenly gone from him and leaving him exhausted. He had done many things that he regretted, things he would always be guilty about. It was a massive list and getting Wanda into trouble was just another thing he would have bare on his shoulders for the rest of his life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has swears and a torture scene. Also, the bit about American people being racist is Clint expressing his anger. It is neither an insult nor my opinion.

When Wanda came back, she was visibly shaking and had retreated back into herself, the small flame that Clint had managed to reignite gone. Clint growled and lunged at the glass, smacking his fist into it. He could feel the pain blossoming along his knuckles but he was too angry to care.

"I'm going to kill you!" Clint yelled at Ross. The general turned from where he had been standing in front of Wanda's cell and looked at him with an unimpressed face.

"I know you're trying to be threatening, Clint-" Clint bristled as the monster used his first name. "-but maybe next time you should say that without a 5-inch bulletproof glass in between us."

Clint punched the glass again, the skin of his knuckles opening and leaving a line of blood on the glass. The archer shook his hand to try and ease the pain. He knew he shouldn't be doing something that could damage his hands- his hands were the most important parts of him after his eyes- but the anger surging through him was making it hard for him to think clearly.

He moved to sit on his cot when Ross left, pulling his legs to his chest and wrapping his arms around his shins. Clint rested his chin on his knees and let his eyes stop focusing, trying to think of a plan. Five minutes later and the sudden sound of a body dropping onto the floor brought him out of his trance. The Raft had taken his S.H.I.E.L.D hearing aids when he had first arrived. Clint had panicked at the start, feeling sick as once again he lost the ability to hear properly. He needed his ears to escape. For some reason, a day later they had given him new hearing aids, most likely in a bid to make him warm up to them, to make him think of them as nice and then give away Steve's and Bucky's location. Any thoughts of them being nice were quickly eradicated when they began to beat up Clint's friends. The new hearing aids were hard and uncomfortable; they didn't sit well in his ears, unlike his S.H.I.E.L.D. aids that had been custom made for him. They were also slightly weaker than he was used to but he could hear the sounds of boots marching into a room and dragging a body out.

"Scott? Sam?" He called out, trying to determine who had been taken.

"I'm here. They took Sam," Scott told him. Clint sighed and sat back to lean on the wall, closing his eyes and began to count the time until Sam came back.

Clint's eyes opened when thirty minutes later Sam was dragged back into his cell. He got up from his cot and moved to the right corner of his cell, pushing himself into the edge as he peered to look at Sam. Confusion swirled through him. Why was Sam back so early? The least amount of time they had taken Sam or Scott had been for over two hours so for him to come back after half an hour was disconcerting. The worry and fear flared up when he couldn't get a good look at Sam. Was he injured? What had happened to him?

Clint's heart and stomach fell when he heard a wet cough coming from Sam's cell. The assassin suddenly felt sick as Sam continued to sound like he was hacking up his lungs. He turned and glanced at his toilet, wondering if he should move to it in case he did throw up. He swallowed, fighting to keep his food down. All of a sudden, his legs felt weak; unable to hold his weight they slid out from under him. Clint didn't try to catch himself, his whole body weak at the new fact. Sam's coughs were familiar. He was making the same noises as someone who had been waterboarded.

' _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck_ ,' he thought. They were using a water torture on them. It was an illegal torture but Ross didn't seem to care. Clint forced himself to think of a reason for it, not wanting to imagine his friend tied to a chair whilst they poured water onto his cloth-covered face.

"They're suddenly using..." Clint clenched his eyes closed and forced himself to finish the sentence. "Illegal torture. Why?" The fact that they were using it out of nowhere suggested urgency. Perhaps Steve was moving again? It would make sense, Bucky's memories were probably all over the place and it would take him a while to remember where the rest of the Winter Soldiers were.

His eyes relaxed but remained closed. Ross had four prisoners who had the potential to know where Steve was or where he was going. One of them was a female which meant she was instantly disqualified, Ross wasn't stupid, the world would make a massive deal out of them torturing a female and on top of that, he was pretty sure Wanda would get more sympathy with her woeful eyes and fragile state. Clint's lip twitched as he thought about how Nat would have reacted to their misogyny. Always a thinker, he thought of a third reason: it could be that they were too scared that Wanda would react with her magic and destroy the prison and/or escape. With Wanda gone, it left three men. One had a family and a child so Scott wasn't a choice. That left them with Clint, a master assassin, and Sam, not trained in anti-torture techniques. And who would the racist, racist people of America care more for? A black or white man? Clint cursed.

His eyes flew open when he heard the sound of gas being dispersed throughout his cell. He licked his lip as his heart sped up. He took a deep breath, putting calming himself over not breathing the gas in and tried to slow his heartbeat and stop the panic setting inside of him. Just because he could take torture didn't mean he liked it. Water torture always made him nervous. His eyelids felt heavy and he let them close, knowing he, at the very least, wasn't going to die. Hopefully.

Four guards came in and dragged him out, one on each side with the other two behind, pointing their guns at him. They moved him into a room that was smaller than the room that he had started to call 'the Interrogation Room' and put him into a chair, strapping his arms to the arm rests and his feet to the chair legs with the belts already attached to the chair.

When he came to, Clint quickly scanned the room, noticing it wasn't the normal Interrogation Room. Once he had analysed everything in the bare room, including the straps holding him, he turned his head and looked forward at the only door, his eyes flicking occasionally at the camera up in the left corner. As he waited, he jerked his left wrist keeping it small and unnoticeable. A minute later and three guards came in. The one at the front was holding a white cloth and was followed by another who was carrying a bucket of water. The third had a gun in his hands and posted himself at the door.

"They say you're the hardest to crack," the man with the cloth spoke. "But everyone cracks eventually." Clint snarled at him.

"When everyone finds out about this, you're going to be in so much shit," he told them.

"Which is why no one is going to find out." He strode closer to Clint and grabbed a fistful of his short hair, jerking his head back. "Now, just stay there while I put this on your face." Clint whipped his head left and right, fighting to keep the cloth off him. He was rewarded with a kick to his solar plexus that left him gasping for breath. A second later and the cloth was secured around his mouth and nose. Clint forced himself to calm down, watching them as they brought the water closer to him. He could hold his breath for 6 minutes and 24 seconds. As long as they didn't pour for longer than that he'd be fine. The man in front of him took the water and began pouring it into Clint's face . The archer dug his fingers on his right hand into the wooden chair, feeling his nails sink into it slightly whilst his left hand kept on twitching up and down, fighting the belt's hold on it. To stay calm, he forced himself to count the seconds.

After four and a half minutes, the water stopped. A second later and the cloth was pulled away from his face. Clint took a deep breath, getting oxygen back into his lungs. His fingers spasmed around the armrests, nails scrambling along the surface and peeling a thin layer off. The guards stepped back letting him breathe again. Clint's shoulders heaved up and down. He felt dizzy from the lack of oxygen but forced his mind to think. Sam had been gone for thirty minutes. If, going with the assumption they were doing the exact same thing to him as they did to Sam, the waterboarding had taken four minutes and thirty seconds, then that left him with 25 minutes and thirty seconds of nothing. After five minutes had passed- long enough for Clint to get his breath back- they reached down to grab the water. Clint realised, with growing horror, just why it had taken thirty minutes for Sam to come back.

"They say you're an Avenger. Don't know why, though. You can't do anything. You don't have any powers, a suit or a magic hammer. You ain't even clever." Clint took the verbal abuse easily, they were just voicing his thoughts after all. He didn't fight the man when he put the cloth back on. The container of water was brought up and his head was forced back as the water began to be poured on his face. He continued to move his head to the side but the water just followed him. Again, Clint counted. He began to relax when he got to four minutes and twenty-five seconds but stiffened when the water continued to pour after the four and a half minute mark. One full minute later and the water finally stopped. Like the last time, the cloth was taken off of him and they moved back so he could catch his breath. He shook his head, water droplets flying off his face.

This time, he only had four minutes to recover before he was being water tortured again. His grip on the armrests tightened as he knew he was in trouble this time; they were going to pour for six minutes and thirty seconds- longer than he could hold his breath. Clint counted the seconds, becoming increasingly worried. At six minutes, longer than anyone else had ever waterboarded him, his torturer still didn't look like he was going to stop. Ten seconds later the man in the middle spoke.

"Ted," he warned.

"Guys, he's an Avenger. He can easily survive this," Ted turned back to Clint. "But maybe I'll do them a favour and kill you. I mean, I don't think anyone knows why they keep you around, including the team."

Clint chose to strike at 6 minutes and 21 seconds. He had managed to free his left hand from the belt five seconds before and it shot up, hitting the man right in the ribs. He knew he had, at the very least, cracked it, though he was pretty sure it was broken. As Ted cried out and stumbled back, Clint tore the drenched cloth off of him.

"Maybe it's because I'm one of the best assassins there is," he snarled an answer to the man's earlier statement. He didn't need to look at the other guards to know they had their guns on him. Ted moaned in pain, hand on his right ribs.

"That fucker's broken my rib! Shoot him, Rex!"

"We're not meant to go over six minutes and fifteen seconds," the second man paused and surveyed the man on the floor. "It's kind of your fault."

Rex moved to Ted and grabbed him under his armpits, pulling him away from Clint. He dragged him to the door where the third guard opened it for him. Clint saw them begin to move down the long corridor but a few seconds later the door clanged shut. The guard clipped his assault rifle onto his belt, the middle of the ArmaLite AR-18 resting on his tail bone. He stepped forward and drew a smaller handgun, Clint recognising it as an Arsenal Firearms AF1 "Strike One". Clint frowned; unlike the rifle, which was made in America, the handgun was made in Russia. Clint began to wonder why they were using a Russian weapon, maybe because the Russians had helped pay for the cost of the Raft? Clint mentally shook his head at that, the Raft was an American prison, why would the Russians get involved with it? It still didn't answer the question as to why they had Russian guns unless the Raft was willing to accept Russian arms.

The male decided not to continue thinking about it. His head was pounding, his lungs were on fire and his entire body felt like it had been run over by an elephant. The gun in question was aimed at his forehead, a warning for him not to move. Clint let the man get close to him, keeping his eyes focused on the door so he wouldn't look as threatening. He winced when his wrist was restrained again, the harsh material irritating his rubbed-raw skin.

Around five and a bit, closer to six, minutes later, the door opened. The man who carried Ted out of the room returned with another man. The new man backhanded him, splitting his just-healed lip. A hand grabbed the hair on the back of his head, lifting his head up so he could spray a gas into his face. Then he stood back and waited until Clint's head slumped forward and rested on his chest. The man stepped back and nodded at Rex; the man working on getting the binds off of Clint. He dragged the knocked out archer out of the chair and then out of the room where he gave him to four guards who took him back to his cell.

* * *

Clint woke up with a groan on his bed. His heart missed a beat as he wondered if, as they were putting him down, they had found the device he had used to create the blackout. A tentative hand moved to touch his pillow. Relief flooded him when he felt the hard object.

"Clint?" Sam asked.

"Yeah I'm here," he groaned and sat up. He rubbed his eyes and tried to chase away the lingering tiredness in him. "How long have I been here?"

"Errr... About  fiveish minutes?" Sam guessed. Scott agreed with him. Clint struggled to think of many sedatives that could work quickly but also end quickly. To have the interrogation rooms any more than a minute away from the cells would be stupid, taking prisoners from one place to another was too risky for it to last more than a minute and give them a chance to escape.

"What happened? What did they do? You were away for like the same amount of time as Sam. And why was it so short? Not that I'm not complaining if your torture sessions have been lessened." This sounded like Scott hadn't been waterboarded since he didn't seem to know what had happened to him. Judging by Sam's voice, he knew what Clint had been through.

"It was just questions and answers. They gave up when I didn't tell them anything. Why, has your torture sessions changed?"

"I wish it would. The questions are boring, they can't get it that I don't know where Cap is. And the beatings aren't great either." With how quickly Scott answered him and the fact that Clint couldn't tell he was lying made Clint believe he hadn't been waterboarded. He had never been the best at listening to tell if someone was lying, he was better at looking at them to see if they're lying. Nat always had been better at hearing a lie. He stood up as he thought about his partner. Just where was she? And what happened to _'we're partners, Clint! I'm not leaving you!'_?

Clint pushed himself into the bottom right corner, seeking the comfort of seeing his friends. Clint caught the eyes of Sam who was in the left corner of his cell, head resting on the wall. When the man saw Clint, his head pushed off the wall and he stood up straight. Clint felt happy that he seemed to be concerned about him. Clint flashed him a smile and Sam nodded back at him, each understanding the other. Clint retreated back to his bed. Feeling the need for safety and security, he ducked under the bed and pushed himself under the top left corner, where two walls met. Clint curled himself into a ball and began a breathing technique to ground himself again. He heard a thud, just like how a body sounded when it fell onto the floor, and knew that they were going to waterboard Sam again.

His hands clenched into fists, anger burning through him as he realised that Sam was about to be tortured with an illegal technique for the second time in one day. Which also meant he would probably be waterboarded again. He let his eyes drift closed, allowing himself to have a little nap before he was tortured again, the fury towards Ross never diminishing.


	5. Chapter 5

Just like he predicted, they take him for another waterboarding session. He was only slightly happier at it the second time as the new man who had replaced Ted didn't go past 6 minutes. From what he had heard, their limit was 6 minutes and 15 seconds. The new man looked down on Clint, his black hair slicked back. Clint dubbed him the 'Jame's Bond Villian' as he reminded the archer of one.

"We only go up to six minutes and fifteen seconds with inmates we believe can survive that. Supersoldiers, mutants, people with powers or trained people-" he looked deliberately at Clint. "-such as in this case, a spy." The man watched Clint struggle with his restraints. Since his last escape, they had been much more vigilant over him. There were now two armed guards at the door and three men standing in the space in between Clint and the guards. Clint glared up at Bond Villian. He didn't look very impressed at Clint. "You know, if you tell us where Captain America is, we'll stop."

Clint licked his lips, brain whirling as he thought it through. He lowered his head and whispered his answer. "Okay."

Bond Villian leant forward, placing his head closer to Clint so he could hear the answer they had been trying to get. Before he could open his mouth to ask where the Captain's location was, Clint's head at snapped up, headbutting him on his nose. Bond Villian leapt back with a small cry of pain. In response, five guns were pointed at Clint.

"Cap's in my asshole, jerks! If you look deep enough, you'll probably find Thor. I heard he's missing right now." Bond Villian didn't look very amused at him but the archer smirked at him anyway. The man in front of the bound Clint raised a hand to his nose, touching it to check for blood. When his fingers came back clean, his eyes darted up to glare at Clint. He struck the assassin, backhanding the blonde man. Clint winced at the flare of pain on his right cheek, face moving with the slap.

"You think you're funny?" Bond Villian seethed.

"I think I'm Godamn hilarious," Clint told him, turning to his head to look back at him. It earned him a glare but thankfully Bond Villian had a much better grip on his emotions than Ted. His hand took out a syringe and inserted the needle into Clint's neck, pushing the fast acting anaesthesia into Clint. He turned around when Clint's chin hit his chest, his eyes closed.

"We are done for now. Take him back to his cell," he ordered the men. The three stepped forward, two of them unstrapping him whilst the third one kept a gun aimed at Clint. After his escaping stunt, they had begun to take him more seriously. The man in the chair wasn't some idiot, he was a highly skilled, highly trained killer. They had made the mistake of letting him fool them once and they weren't going to underestimate him again. The three men pulled him out of the chair and dragged him to the door. The guards stationed there opened it for them and they hauled him outside to where a moving squad was waiting to take him back to his cell.

* * *

Clint woke up on his bed. It took a second for him to clear the fog that had settled over his brain. Once he was more alert, he used his other senses to check the environment around him. He knew it was redundant, he was most likely alone in his bed, but he had been an assassin for such a long time that checking the surrounding area had become an instinct. When he couldn't hear or feel anyone else's presence, he opened his eyes. Just like he thought, he was alone in his cell. He checked his pillow and felt the device he had used to create a blackout still in its place.

The archer's eyes ran along the ceiling and fought the urge to sigh. Clint brought his hands up to rub his eyes. He pressed his hands hard into his eyeballs, rotating his hands so he could jab his eyes with the heel of his palm. Truthfully, he was finding it very hard to remain strong in front of the others and he gave himself a few minutes where he could be himself. Clint let the tough guy act disappear and took a deep breath. The male allowed himself to ask the hard questions that he had forced himself not to think about. Was he ever going to get out of the Raft? Where was his partner? Did the Avengers really intend to leave them all to rot in the underwater prison? What would happen if Tony or Steve didn't come for them?

Once he had thought of them, he forced himself to stop with the questions and put up his calm, fighting facade back up. He knew that he was the one maintaining the morale and if they saw him in a vulnerable state they would probably crack completely. Clint pushed himself up off the cot and crammed himself into the corner just a metre further away from the foot of his cot. Once again, Sam was in the top left corner of his cell and waiting for Clint. He gave the archer a half-smile. Clint could tell he was relieved and that left Clint with a happy feeling in the centre of his chest. It felt nice for someone to be worried about him. Without meaning to, his mind flashed to Natasha and he wondered if she was worried for him. A second later and he was berating himself for the thought.

"Wanda?" Clint tried, hoping that, maybe this time she would answer. She hadn't said a single word since they had brought her back. In fact, she had scarcely moved and Clint was getting more than a little worried about her. Just what had they done to her? He gazed at her with regret. In his eyes, she was a child- she didn't deserve any of this.

Instead of taking Sam almost immediately after dropping Clint back into his cell, like they had done last time, Sam got an extra thirty minutes. Clint guessed it was to help him catch his breath after all the waterboarding he had been subjected to. As much as he hated to admit it, the Raft was still part of the US government and they didn't want to kill any of their prisoners. Especially public heroes. Clint felt sick again when he heard Sam thump to the floor and the guards come in and drag him out. Not having any other way to release his anger, he ripped his shoe off and flung it across the small room. He repeated the action with his other shoe then retrieved them and did it again.

"Hey! Hey! Seriously man, calm down. There's nothing you, or anyone else, can do right now. I know it sucks but Sam's strong. We just gotta wait this out." Scott's voice interrupted his rage. Clint suppressed a dark chuckle at the fact it was least serious, happy-go-lucky man that was calming him. Just how far had things gone?

"Wish it could be different," Clint mumbled.

"Don't we all."

Clint spent the thirty minutes pacing around his cell, counting the minutes down until Sam would be brought back. The worry in him felt like lead, weighing him down in his stomach. He couldn't remember the last he had felt this nervous- he was never this tense whenever Nat went on a mission but only because he was almost always there right beside her, knowing what was going on and ready to lend a hand if things went bad. Now though, he had no idea if Sam was in over his head and there was no way he could help him. His agitation only grew when thirty minutes later Sam still hadn't been brought back. His pace quickened as he walked around the small rectangular room and the number of times he forced himself into the only corner that allowed him any visual into the man's cell increased with every minute that went by. His restlessness only continued as he was plagued by images of Sam's dead body.

His anxiety eased when he heard the noise of a cell door opening. The sound of a body being put onto a bed was a relief and he was in the only corner that let him see Sam in an instant. He could hear Scott moving around in the cell next to him.

"Sam? Are you okay? Sam? Is he okay?" Scott asked. "Clint, is he okay?"

Clint pushed himself further into the corner, gritting his teeth at the uncomfortable position but couldn't get a good look on the man.

"I can't see him well," he told the other worried male. "Sam?"

It was faint but he could hear a groaning noise.

"He's alive," he told the size-changing male, but it wasn't enough to relax either of them. A flurry of movements had his grey eyes darting back to the cell just in time to catch Sam rolling off of his cot and crawling to the toilet. The man shoved his head into the bowl just as he began to puke.

"Sam! Sam!!" Scott yelled, becoming increasingly more frustrated and scared as he heard the male vomit into the toilet. Clint wanted to tell him to shut up so he could hear the male and gauge how bad he was, but he knew that that would make the Scott think something was really wrong with Sam. Which was already true. Instead, Clint made do with trying to hear Sam with his damaged hearing in between Scott's frantic calls. It sounded watery and it had Clint worried. Something must have gone wrong with the last waterboarding session which resulted in Sam trying to get all the water out of him in the fastest way possible. It would also explain why it took longer than normal for him to come back. There was a pause and Sam took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I'm fine," he told them. Clint sighed a relief, glad that the man was feeling good enough to talk to them. Scott wasn't so happy.

"Fine? You're puking! What happened?"

"Scott? I think it's best if we don't make him relive whatever happened," Clint told him softly. There was a pause but he heard Scott sigh.

"I don't like this. I don't like any of this," Scott made his opinion known but didn't grill Sam anymore. He could hear the man move around but Clint stayed in the corner, waiting. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for, for Sam to get up and look at him? Or maybe for him to just get up? The dark male eventually heaved up the remaining water. Sam stayed kneeling in front of the bowl, resting his chest on the toilet and his elbows on the seat, his head held up by his hands. Clint knew the man was exhausted and was surprised when a few minutes later Sam pushed away from the toilet. He shuffled towards his bed and reached out to pull his thin duvet off of the bed. The retired paratrooper moved to the left wall of his cell, dragging his butt along the floor. He leant his left side on the wall and wrapped the duvet over his shoulders and head but kept it well away from his face.

"You're okay Sam, you're here with us. You're with friends, me and Scott and Wanda. They're not here. Only us," Clint tried to comfort the male. He was rewarded with a weak smile. Sam rested his head on the wall and closed his eyes. Clint let him sleep in the awkward position, knowing it had been a draining day for him.

"He's sleeping now," Clint whispered to Scott. He didn't hear from the male for a few seconds.

"Little child, be not afraid,  
The rain pounds harsh against the glass.  
Like an unwanted stranger, there is no danger,  
I am here tonight."

Clint was startled when he heard Scott begin to sing. He believed it was a lullaby and he let it calm him down. He had to admit, Scott was a good singer. His voice seemed a little bit out of practise and it took Clint a moment to realise that this was probably the lullaby he would sing to his daughter. To say the archer was touched would be putting it lightly. He didn't leave his corner but did let his head loll to the side to rest on the wall that he was also leaning on. The lullaby almost sent him into a light slumber but Clint was more than trained enough to resist the sleepiness beginning to possess him.

The assassin kept count of the minutes and when he hit thirty, the hissing sound of gas being dispersed through his cell could be heard. He glanced out of the window to look at Wanda. She was in one of the corners of her cell, curled up as small as she could be and staring out of the window at nothing, looking both scared and emotionless at the same time. Next, Clint looked at Sam sleeping in a huddle, his bruised face resting on the wall at an angle that would leave him with a crick in his neck for the next few days. His face looked more boney and was a patchwork of healing bruises- if Clint looked at him hard enough, he could see a bruise in the shape of fist on his right cheek- Sam's eyes were seemingly more sunken into his face than normal. The toll of being beaten up had finally appeared on his face. Though the archer couldn't see Scott, he could still hear him. He had repeated the first lullaby a few times and was now singing a new song in a hushed tone. The chorus was in French but the rest of it was in English. Although the words danced around the space, Clint could hear the bitter sorrow in the words, most likely as Scott reminisced of singing the song to his daughter to help her fall asleep.

Clint pushed himself out of the corner, letting his body out of the awkward position it had been in for thirty minutes. He took a deep breath and moved to the middle of the cell. Three minutes later and he fell down onto the hard ground. It took less than twenty seconds for the door to open and the moving squad to pull him out of his cell. Clint kept his body relaxed and limp, letting them carry all of his weight. He was being dragged down a corridor, his front facing the ground. The person on either side of him had one arm curled under his bicep and the other hand on his elbow, lifting his whole chest up. Behind him, were three other guards, all with guns. Clint didn't have much time so he acted fast.

He moved his right foot so he had a better grip then pushed off of it and barreled into the person to his left. The person grunted as he was slammed into the wall. Clint immediately gathered his feet jumped at the male on his right who had let go of him. He jumped at him, right arm outstretched. He grabbed the front of the man's vest and, with his other hand, punched him, knocking him unconscious before he could grab his gun. He used the man's body as a shield. The guards had their guns pointed at him but weren't shooting, probably because they didn't want to accidentally hit their friend. Clint used their hesitance against them and grabbed the gun on the man he was using as a shield's belt. He had to twist his hand to get it out but it wasn't too bad. Once it was out of the holster, he used it to shoot the three guards in front of him. He was tempted to shoot them in their legs, their vests were bulletproof but that was it, but he couldn't risk them contacting anyone else so he put a bullet through each of their eyes and then one in the temple of the man he was holding up and one in the back of the neck of the man he had attacked first. He didn't like it, both killing them when they were unconscious and the fact that they didn't do anything wrong really but then he remembered they were going to take him to be waterboarded so they knew what was about to happen to him and he felt a bit better. Their deaths were still going to be pinned on him and there was a possibility he would be arrested since S.H.I.E.L.D. had gone down so he wasn't really pardoned from killing. But if he was going to be arrested for killing them, then they too would have to be arrested for waterboarding him in the first place. Clint shook his head, needing to get rid of any distracting thoughts if he were to escape.

Clint crept down the corridor, keeping to the shadows. His eyes scanned every part of the corridor, looking for oncoming guards as well as cameras. Clint wasn't sure if people had been alerted to the fact he had escaped yet. Eventually, he came to a T-junction. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the blueprints of the Raft he had looked at on the navigator he had taken off one of the guards. He knew if he went left he would get to the hangar. All he had to do was grab a helicopter and open the doors then he would be free and could come back for his friends when he had more weapons and back up.

The archer opened his eyes- having his eyes closed for any amount of time always made him feel tense. When he was sure there were no guards, he closed his eyes again to make sure he had remember the blueprints right. Instead of the blueprints though, all he could see was Wanda, her scared yet emotionless face. He could see the bruises on her face and the way she stared out of the glass looking at nothing. The way she would flinch whenever she heard the thump of one of their bodies hitting the floor. The fact that she was so broken. Clint's eyes flew opened and he shook his head, trying to get rid of the pictures.

He turned his head to hear for footsteps of approaching guards but all he could hear was Scott's voice. The desperation as he continued to shout to them, asking them if they were okay. The anger as he realised that they were being beaten up and he couldn't do anything to save them. His resignation as he realised he would never see his beloved daughter again. How sad his voice was when he sang to them, most likely remembering the past when it was much more simple, with him, his daughter and his ex. Clint forced himself out of those thoughts.

Clint crouched down, placing his hands on the metal railings to try and feel the vibrations of any moving people near him. Instead, he felt a cloth over his face and water pouring into his face. Felt the water go up his nose and feel the burn as the lack of oxygen became more known. Felt the dig on the restraints around his wrists as he jerked and struggled to no avail. Felt Sam's stubbornness as he continued to withhold the information his torturers wanted.

Clint had always been praised for his ability to keep a cool head. Even Fury had commented on his ability to control his emotions. Cool-headed and near emotionless was what he had been described as for most of his life, even before S.H.I.E.L.D. He had had to be emotionless ever since his childhood; his father would beat him harder if he had cried. Yet, when he made his decision, it wasn't with a cool head. For once the archer let his emotions take control, feeling a wrath he had never felt before in his life as he leapt up and began to run in the direction he had picked.

He steeled himself and continued to sprint away from the hangar.


End file.
